"Padma might give up Vivian in exchange for you. Gregory's freedom could be won if we gave them Jason."
"I notice you're not trading yourself in," I said.
"Padma would not want me, ma petite. He is neither a lover of men nor of other vampires in particular. He prefers his companions warm and female."
"Why Jason then?"
"A werewolf for a wereleopard might be an acceptable trade to him."
"Not to me. We are not trading one hostage for another, and I am certainly not giving myself to that monster."
"You see, ma petite, you will not endure that. You will not risk Jason to save Gregory. I ask again, what will you risk for them?"
"I'll risk my life, but only if I've got a good chance of getting out alive. No sex, absolutely not. No trading one hostage for another. Nobody else gets skinned alive or raped. How's that for parameters?"
"Padma and Fernando will be disappointed, but the others might agree. I will do the best I can within the limits you have given me."
"No rape, no maiming, no actual intercourse, no hostages, does that really tie your hands that much?"
"When we have survived all this, ma petite, and the council has gone home, I will tell you stories of my time at court. I have seen spectacles that even in the telling would give you nightmares."
"Nice to know you think we're going to survive."
"I am hopeful, yes."
"But not certain," I said.
"Nothing is certain, ma petite, not even death."
He had me there. My beeper went off. It pulled a gasp from my throat. Nervous, who me?
"Are you all right, ma petite?"
"My beeper went off," I said. I checked the number. It was Dolph. "It's the police. I need to return the call."
"I will begin negotiations with the council, ma petite. If they ask too much, I will let your leopards remain where they are."
"Padma will kill Vivian now that he thinks she belongs to me. He might have killed her before, but it would have been by accident. If we don't get her out of there, he'll do it on purpose."
"One meeting with him and you are so sure of this?"
"You think I'm wrong?" I asked.
"No, ma petite, I think you are exactly right."
"Get them out of there, Jean-Claude. Make the best deal you can."
"I have your permission to use your name in this?"
"Yeah." My beeper went off a second time. Dolph, impatient as usual. "I've got to go, Jean-Claude."
"Very well, ma petite. I will bargain for us all, then."
"You do that," I said. "Wait ... "
"Yes, ma petite."
"You aren't going to go back to the Circus in person tonight, are you? I don't want you in there alone," I said.
"I will use the phone, if you prefer," he said.
"I do."
"You don't trust them," he said.
"Not hardly."
"Wise beyond your years," he said.
"Suspicious beyond my years, you mean."
"That as well, ma petite. If they will not negotiate over the phone?" he asked.
"Then let it go."
"You said you were willing to risk your life, ma petite."
"I didn't say I was willing to risk yours."
"Ah," he said. "Je t'aime, ma petite."
"I love you, too," I said.
He hung up first, and I dialed the police. Here was hoping whatever Dolph had in mind was some nice straightforward police work. Yeah, right.
23
The victim had been rushed to a hospital by the time I arrived at Burnt Offerings. It's one of my favorites of the newer vampire businesses. It was far from the vampire district. The only other vamp businesses were blocks, miles away. As you walked through the doors there was a poster from the 1970's movie Burnt Offerings, Oliver Reed and Bette Davis staring down at you. There was a life size waxwork of Christopher Lee as Dracula in the bar. There was one wall with framed caricatures of horror stars of the sixties and seventies, floor to ceiling, no tables allowed to obstruct the view. It wasn't uncommon to see clusters of visitors trying to identify who was who. At midnight whoever had the most correct guesses got a free dinner for two.
The place was pure schlock. Some of the waiters were real vamps, but others were just wannabes. For some it was just a job, and they specialized in plastic Halloween teeth and jokes. For others it was their chance to pretend. They had dental caps over their canines and worked very hard at being the real thing. Other waiters or waitresses were dressed up as mummies, the wolf man, Frankenstein's monster. To my knowledge the only real monsters were the vamps. If a shapeshifter wanted to come out of the closet, there was better money to be made in more exotic locales.
The place was always packed. I wasn't sure whether Jean-Claude was sorry he hadn't thought of it first or if he was simply embarrassed by it. It was a little déclassé for him. Me, I loved it. From the haunted house soundtrack to the Bela Lugosi burgers, extra rare unless otherwise requested. Bela was one of the few exceptions to the 60's and 70's movie decor. Hard to have a horror theme restaurant without the original movie Dracula.
You haven't lived until you've been there on a Friday night for Scary Karaoke. I took Ronnie. Veronica (Ronnie) Sims is a private detective and my best friend. We had a blast.
But back to the body. All right, not a body, a victim. But if the bartender hadn't been fast with a fire extinguisher, it would have been a body.
Detective Clive Perry was the man in charge. He's tall, slender, sort of Denzel Washington without the broad shoulders. He's one of the most polite people I've ever met. I've never heard him yell, and only seen him lose his composure once -- when a large white cop had pointed a gun at the "nigger detective." Even then I was the one who pointed my gun at the rogue cop. I was the one that was ready to shoot while Perry was still trying to talk the situation down. Maybe I overreacted. Maybe I didn't. No one died.
He turned with a smile, soft voice. "Ms. Blake, good to see you."
"Good to see you, too, Detective Perry." He always affected me this way. He was so polite, so soft-spoken that I fell into the same pattern. I was never this nice to anyone else.
We were in the bar with its life-size waxwork of Christopher Lee as Dracula looming over us. The bartender was a vamp named Harry who had long auburn hair and a silver stud in his nose. He looked very young, very cutting edge, and could probably remember the Jamestown charter, though his British accent showed he was newer to the country than the 1600's. He was polishing the bar like his life depended on it. Even with his nice blank face, I could tell he was nervous. Couldn't blame him, I guess. Harry was part owner as well as bartender.
A woman had been attacked in the bar by a vampire patron. Very bad for business. The woman had thrown a drink in his face and lit him with her lighter. Ingenious in an emergency. Vamps burn really well. But the quiet bar in a family-oriented tourist trap didn't seem the place for such extreme measures. Maybe she panicked.
"Witnesses all say she seemed friendly until he got a little too close," Perry said.
"Did he bite her?"
Perry nodded.
"Shit," I said.
"But she lit him up, Anita. He's badly burned. He may not make it. What could she have thrown on him to get third-degree burns so quickly?"
"How quickly?"
He checked his notes. "Seconds and he went up."
I asked Harry. "What was she drinking?"
He didn't ask who, just said, "Straight Scotch. Best we had in the place."
"High alcohol content?"
He nodded.
"That would have been enough," I said. "Once you get a vamp burning, they burn until they're put out. They're very combustible."
"So she didn't come in here with some sort of accelerant?" he asked.
I shook my head. "She didn't need it. What I don't like is the fact that she knew to light the drink. If he'd been human and gotten out of hand, she'd have thrown the drink and yelled for help
."
"He did bite her," Perry said.
"If she had that much problem with a vampire sinking fang in her, she wouldn't have been cuddling with him in a bar. Something's off about this."
"Yes," he said, "but I don't know what. If the vampire survives, he's going to be up on charges."
"I'd like to see the woman."
"Dolph took her to the emergency room to get the bite tended. He's got her down at our headquarters. He said to come on down if you think you need to see her."
It was late, and I was tired, but dammit, something was wrong. I walked over to the bar. "Was she trolling for vamps, Harry?"
He shook his head. "Came in to use the phone, then sat down. She's a beauty. Didn't take long for someone to hit on her. Just bad luck it was a vampire."
"Yeah," I said, "bad luck."
He kept polishing the bar in small round circles, while his eyes watched me. "If she sues us, it'll ruin us."
"She won't sue," I said.
"Tell that to the Crematorium in Boston. A woman got bit there and sued them out of business. They had pickets going outside."
I patted his hand, and he went utterly still under my touch. His skin had that hard almost wooden feel that vamps can have when they aren't trying to be human. I met his dark eyes, and his face was as immobile and unreadable as glass.
"I'll go talk to the supposed victim."
He just looked at me. "It won't help, Anita. She's human. We're not. Nothing they do in Washington will change that."
I took my hand away and resisted an urge to wipe it on my dress. I never liked the way vamps felt when they went hard and otherworldly. They didn't feel like flesh then, almost plastic like a dolphin, but harder, as if there was no muscle underneath, nothing but solidness like a tree.
"I'll do what I can, Harry."
"We're monsters, Anita. We'll always be monsters. I've really enjoyed being able to walk the streets like everyone else, but it won't last."
"Maybe, maybe not," I said. "Let's take care of this problem before we borrow another one, okay?"
He nodded and walked away to stack glasses.
"That was very comforting of you," Perry said. Anyone else on the squad would have said it wasn't like me to be comforting. Of course, anyone else would have already given me a hard time about the dress. I was going to have to go down to RPIT headquarters. Dolph would be there and Zerbrowski, probably. They'd know just what to say about the dress.
24
Three o'clock found me at the headquarters for the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team. Another squad had buttons made up for us with the abbreviation RIP bleeding down the front of the button in red or green, your choice. Zerbrowski handed them out, and we all wore them, even Dolph. The first vampire we killed after the buttons arrived came through the morgue with one of the buttons pinned to its shirt. Never did find out who did it. My money was on Zerbrowski.
Zerbrowski met me on the steps leading into the squad room. "If that dress was slit any higher, it'd be a shirt," he said.
I looked him up and down. His pale blue shirt was coming untucked from a pair of dark green dress slacks, his tie so loose, it looked like a bulky necklace. "Jeez, Zerbrowski, is Katie mad at you?"
He frowned. "No, why?"
I motioned at the tie that matched neither shirt nor slacks. "She let you wear this out where people could see you."
He grinned. "I dressed in the dark."
I touched the black-figured tie. "That I believe."
But it didn't faze him. He pushed the door open to the squad room with a flourish. He beamed at me. "Beauty before age."
It was my turn to frown. "What are you up to, Zerbrowski?"
He gave me innocent eyes. "Me, up to something?"
I shook my head and walked through the door. There was a stuffed toy penguin on every desk. Everyone answered phones, filed, worked on their computers. No one paid me any attention. Just the penguins sitting on every desk. It had been almost a year since Dolph and Zerbrowski had seen my penguin collection. The teasing didn't start right away; I thought I was safe. When Zerbrowski got back off sick leave after the new year, the penguins had started showing up at every crime scene. On my car seat, in my trunk. They must have spent a couple of hundred dollars on the things by now.
I still didn't know how to react. Ignore it? Pretend that there weren't a dozen penguins sitting around the room? Collect them as I went through the room and take them home? Get mad? If I could have figured out the reaction that would stop the joke, I'd have given it to them. So far, I'd tried ignoring and collecting. Neither stopped it. In fact, it seemed to be getting worse. I suspected that they were building to some grand climax. I had no idea what and wasn't sure I ever wanted to find out.
"Glad to see everybody's so energetic at three A.M."
"No effort too great, no hour too late," Zerbrowski said.
"Where's Dolph?"
"In the interview room with our victim."
There was something about the way he said it that made me look at him. "Dolph called her the 'supposed' victim over the phone. Why doesn't anyone believe her?"
He smiled. "Dolph would be mad if I spoiled it." He crooked his finger at me. "Come along, little girl. We have someone we want you to meet."
I scowled at him. "If this is some elaborate joke, I am going to be pissed."
He held the door for me. "Did we interrupt your date with Count Dracula?"
"None of your damn business."
A chorus of "ooohs" went through the squad room. I went through the door with everyone calling after me. Some of the suggestions were rude, one physically impossible even with a vampire. Sexual harassment or just being one of the guys, it was always a thin line.
I peeked back through the door and said, "You're all just jealous." That brought more catcalls.
Zerbrowski was waiting on the stairs for me. "I don't know whether you'll flash me more leg if I walk in front of you, looking back, or behind you. I think in front."
"Push it too far, Zerbrowski, and I'll tell Katie on you."
"She knows I'm a lech." He walked down the stairs looking back at me.
I walked down the stairs and let the dress fall where it might. When you wear a dress slit nearly to your hips, even if it is to have a gun handy, you are either comfortable with men looking or you wear something else. "How did you ever convince Katie to date you, let alone marry you?"
"I got her drunk," he said.
I laughed. "I'll ask her next time I'm over for dinner."
He grinned. "She'll give you this cock-and-bull story about something romantic and stupid. Don't believe her." He stopped in front of the first interview room and knocked softly.
Dolph opened the door. He filled the doorway very completely. He isn't just tall, he's bulky like a pro-wrestler. His tie was knotted perfectly, white-starched collar tight to his neck. His grey dress slacks still had a sharp crease. His only concession to the heat and the lateness of the hour was the long white sleeves of his shirt. No jacket. I could count on one hand the times I'd seen Dolph in shirt sleeves.
All cops perfect a bored face or a blank face, some even a mildly amused face But they all eventually have a face that keeps everything inside. An emptiness settles in their eyes that keeps all their secrets. Dolph gave great blank face when questioning suspects. The look on his face now was angry. I'd never seen him so obviously pissed questioning a suspect.
"What's up?" I asked.
He closed the door behind him, stepping into the hallway. He shook his head. "I don't know why this one's getting to me."
"Tell me," I said.
His eyes flicked to my clothing, as if he'd just noticed. The frown softened into something close to a smile. "Somebody has become a bad influence on your wardrobe."
I frowned at him. "I've got a gun in a bellyband, okay? With the slits, it's easier to get to." I would never have explained my dress to Zerbrowski, but to Dolph ...
"Ooh," Zerbrowski said. "Flash u
s, flash us."
Dolph's smile widened enough that his eyes were shiny. "If you're going to flash that much leg, at least it's in a good cause."
I crossed my arms over my stomach. "Is there really a suspect in there or did you call me down here just to yank my chain?"
The smile faded, and the angry frown returned. "She's not the suspect. She's the victim. I know you talked to Perry at the scene, but I want you to hear her story, then tell me what you think." With that, he opened the door. That was Dolph, never liked to influence his people. But frankly, it was a little abrupt. I didn't have time to put my professional face on. I made eye contact with the woman while I still looked sort of surprised.
I had an impression of huge blue eyes, silky blond hair, delicate features, and yet she was tall. Even with her sitting down, I could tell that. Very few women can be both tall and dainty, but she pulled it off.
"Ms. Vicki Pierce, this is Anita Blake. I'd like you to tell her your story."
Ms. Pierce blinked big blue eyes, tears welling in them -- not falling, mind you, but glittering. She dabbed at them with a Kleenex. There was a bandage on the side of her neck. "Sergeant Storr, I've told you what happened. I've told you and told you." A single tear slid down her cheek. "I'm so tired, and it's been such a traumatic night. Do I have to tell it all over again?" She leaned towards him in the chair, arms held protectively in front of her, almost pleading with him. A lot of men would have buckled under the sweet pressure of those eyes. Too bad the performance was wasted on Dolph.
"Just one more time for Ms. Blake," he said.
She looked past me to Zerbrowski. "Please, I'm so tired."
Zerbrowski leaned against the wall. "He's the boss."
She'd tried using her womanly wiles, but it wasn't working. She switched to sisterly unity with only a blink of her baby blues. "You're a woman. You know how it is, being so alone among all these -- " her voice dropped to a hush -- "men." She stared down at the table top, then back up with real tears trailing down her perfect skin.
It was an Oscar-worthy performance. I wanted to applaud, but I'd try sympathy first. There was always time for sarcasm later.
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